


My Best Friend's Dad

by bloodgutsandstarbucks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angsty Schmoop, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 03:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodgutsandstarbucks/pseuds/bloodgutsandstarbucks
Summary: Peter is home for the summer, back from his first year away at college. He loves his school but he’d missed his own room and his small hometown, missed his aunt, and especially his best friend, Harley.Having stayed over at Harley's house every weekend since they were fourteen, he never used to think much of his friends dad. Tony Stark was infamously handsome, witty and perpetually single. Sure, Peter had some silly crush on him like any other person so inclined, but it was never serious.A years worth of college experience has Peter noticing Tony in a different way. This time, Tony notices him back.





	1. Prologue

Peter is home for the summer, back from his first year away at college. He loves his school, but he’d missed his own room and his small hometown, missed his aunt, and especially his best friend, Harley. 

Friends since they met in high school, they parted ways when Peter moved for college and Harley stayed to become an apprentice mechanic for his dad. They’d been inseparable before and he’s glad to find little has changed. With the summer ahead of them, Peter finds himself spending more and more time at Harley’s place, fixing up old cars, using the space of the big house and bigger yard to host get togethers with their old friends, playing ball or video games and gorging themselves on the perpetually full pantry in the Stark household.

Reuniting with his best friend also meant with Harleys’ dad, who Peter may or may not have had a small crush on since they met. After not seeing him for almost a year Peter would have thought his schoolboy crush had dwindled, but if anything else the passage of time and the maturity he’s gained has only made it worse. Way worse.

It’s not Peters fault that he’s a helpless bisexual and that Mr. Stark - _call me Tony_ \- is a hot, single, forty-something with strong hands and a smile to die for. He’s only human, he can’t be blamed for finding a built older man, usually covered in grease and sweat with low hanging jeans attractive. And it’s not only that Tony is a fucking babe, but he’s crazy smart and funny too, always with a witty one-liner. He’d always felt so inadequate around him, fumbling and insecure as Tony seemed to be effortlessly charming. But the year away has done wonders for Peters confidence, finds himself on an equal footing for the first time since they met, finds himself engaging in banter and conversation like the adult he’s become. 

And he thinks maybe Tony sees it too.

Maybe he’s imagining it, that Tony starts looking at him differently. Maybe he’s imagining the lingering looks as he bends over the hood of the old car he and Harley are fixing up in the garage. Maybe he’s imagining things when Tony offers him a beer and watches as Peter presses the bottle to the opening of his lips, drinking the bubbly liquid down. Maybe Tony doesn’t watch as he swallows, carbon fizzing down his throat. 

Maybe he imagines that Tony touches him more now, the firm pats on the back where Tonys hand lingers longer than normal, the way he reaches out to fix Peter’s wayward curls with a lazy grin, or the way Tony places his hands on Peters hips to shift him while they’re in the kitchen, the garage. Maybe Tony just sees him as an adult now, and it’s all innocent. Perhaps Peter dreamed the double-take Tony made when he first came back or the way the man finds more reason to be around them, much to Harley’s chagrin.

It’s possible, but that doesn’t mean Peter doesn’t find reasons to walk around shirtless more often than what’s reasonable. Even in the summer heat. And maybe he finds himself eating ice cream cones and lapping at the sticky melted treat as it covers his fingers. If he does it around Tony, it’s just a coincidence. 

One night, Peter stays over and Tony joins him and Harley for a Lord of The Rings marathon, sitting himself on the sofa next to Peter and good-naturedly stealing some of the popcorn. The night is filled with quoted lines and snarky commentary and at some point near the end of the second film Harley bows out, one too many late nights getting the best of him. With a yawn and a mumbled _goodnight_ he drags himself off to bed, leaving Tony and Peter alone in the living room. 

They don’t get many moments alone and as the third movie starts up Peter finds himself subtly shifting closer to the older man, getting up to go to the bathroom and coming back only to sit close enough to Tony that their shoulders bump together. It was kind of an accident but Tony is warm and Peter doesn’t want to move, not when he can smell the clean scent of soap and the faint traces of engine oil that always seems to linger.

“Comfortable?” Tony asks as Peter shuffles closer to grab the edge of the blanket on Tony’s lap to drape it over himself. Peters only response is to smile innocently and press play on the remote.

Instead of watching the movie Tony turns to look at him just a few moments too long. Long enough for Peter to feel the heat of his gaze and to stare back. Flashes of movement from the television screen flicker over the mans face, casting him in a glow that makes his face seem softer, more gentle.

“Everything okay, Tony?”

The man reaches out to trace a finger gently along Peter’s forehead, moving a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Just thinking that you need a haircut, Pete.”

The delicate touch has goosebumps raising on his skin and despite the innocent comment, Tony still hasn’t looked away from him. The air in the room feels thicker, like the air particles around them are vibrating. Peter licks his lips before answering and watches the way Tony follows the movement of his tongue.

“Like you can talk, old man,” Peter teases quietly, reaching up to card his fingers through Tony’s air, slicking it back. It’s more touch than he’s ever given himself permission to do before, emboldened by the charge between them. Tony’s hair is soft, still a little damp on the ends from when he’d showered earlier.

“Old man? You wound me, kid.”

Peter licks his lips again, letting his hand fall to rest on Tony’s knee.  
  
“Just calling it as how I see it. And… I’m not a kid.”

Tony looks at him with consideration, taking a second to answer. “Guess not,” he says softly, “You really grew up out there, huh? How old are you now, nineteen?”

Peter nods, throat going dry as the Tony’s fingers trails down to gently stroke his jaw. There is no imagining the way that Tonys eyes darken when Peter moves his hand slightly higher up Tonys’ thigh and leans in closer to the older mans face. 

“I learned a lot, had some new experiences,” Peter says, close enough that now he can feel Tonys’ warm breath on his face. “Made some new friends.”

“Yeah? Any boyfriends or girlfriends?” He asks, finger still tracing along Peter’s jaw to his chin.

“A few. None right now.”

The answer gives the older man pause, a moment of silence falling between. There’s a finality in the way that Tony leans in, brown eyes darkening.

“I’m not one of your college boys,” Tony remarks, moving in until there’s barely an inch between their faces. 

Peter’s stomach twists hot as he braves creeping his hand up further to palm at Tony’s crotch, finding it already hard beneath the denim. Heat zips up his spine as the man makes no move to stop him.

“I’m not looking for a college boy,” Peter whispers, before finally bridging the gap and pressing his lips to Tony’s.  
  
Tony groans softly between them, hand coming up to cup Peter’s cheek as he presses back. He shivers as the bristle of Tony’s beard tickles his chin, the firm but delicate way Tony touches his face. Soft, gentle pecks quickly devolve into fevered kisses, Tony’s hands in his hair, his tongue in his mouth. 

Later, cheeks flushed and lips slick and swollen, they agree to keep seeing each other in secret. The rest of the summer is spent in stolen moments, sneaking off to Tony’s room in the middle of the night, stolen kisses in the kitchen while Harley is getting dressed, sex in Peter’s bed while May is at work, texting back and forth, oscillating between sweet _I miss you’s_ and dirty pictures. 

It makes him feel like a shitty friend to Harley to keep this from him, but when Tony holds his hand or hugs him from behind, kisses his neck and calls him beautiful, sweetheart or baby, he can’t find it within himself to feel all that bad. 


	2. Two

December had brought Peter back home for the winter holidays, saddled with a duffle full of laundry he’d never gotten around to doing and bone-deep exhaustion. The first thing he did upon arrival was flop down on his bed and sleep for fourteen hours straight, still in his jeans and sneakers, drooling onto his pillow. Second was to spend some proper time with his Aunt - and the third was catching up with his friends.  
  
His dear, dear friends. 

“I can’t believe he broke up with you, what an _asshole_.”

Pursing his lips around the straw of his strawberry milkshake and sucking, Peter watches the interaction with interest as MJ shrugs from across the table. She doesn’t look too bothered by her recent single status if the disinterested lift of her shoulders is of any indication.

“Tinder boys. I’m not exactly heartbroken,” is all she says in response, stealing a fry from Neds’ plate and chewing it leisurely.

Peter raises his eyebrows at her in a deliberate fashion, dipping his chin when she catches his dubious gaze.

“What’re you looking at, nerd?”

“Since when are you on Tinder?” he asks, reaching over to steal a fry of his own, frowning when Ned slaps his wrist.

“Question is, Petesicle,” Harley cuts in, nabbing his own fry from Ned’s plate, “why are you not on Tinder?”

Peter shrugs, the back of his neck going warm. “I just like meeting people the old fashion way?”

“Vintage,” MJ nods.

“It’s not _vintage_.”

“Can you guys stop,” Ned interrupts as all three go to reach for his plate at the same time. It’s par for the course that he gets ignored by everyone. Huffily conceding defeat he slides the meal into the centre of the table. Ned’s nice like that, Peter thinks as he steals two more fries.

“What about him, he’s your type, right?” Harley says, pointing towards a tall male at the entrance of the diner. Peering over, the man looks to be in his thirties, carries himself with careless ease, hair sandy and artfully windswept. It’s the middle of winter but he’s in a t-shirt, undoubtedly to parade the bulge of his biceps.

Peter shakes his head. “Really not my type.”

“Dude, he’s fucking hot,” his best friend says in near disbelief, leering shamelessly and winking when the man notices him staring. “He’s _my_ type.”

“He’s like twice your age,” Ned adds, eyebrows drawing together as he assesses the guy. “He probably has a kid or something.”

“Yeah, so? That just means he has more experience.”

“Amen to that,” MJ says, fistbumping Harley even as Ned fixes them a judging stare.

Peter watches as the guy walks towards the counter, hips swaying with an over-confident swagger. The sunglasses tucked into the collar of his cotton shirt drags the material down to reveal the skin of his chest, shiny and hairless. The guy even winks flirtatiously at the poor girl behind cashier who looks distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

MJ rolls his eyes at him, kicking her foot out under the table and connecting with his shin. “Okay, and when was the last time you got _your_ dick wet, Parker?”

Peter kicks her back.

“Does it matter?”

“Dunno dude, you seem a little tense.”

“Yeah, because I’m busy with school and work. Getting some isn’t exactly a top priority right now.”

“You’re on winter break,” MJ corrects.

He somehow barely withholds the urge to gesture wildly around him, as if to articulate his lack of options, the only people in the diner besides them and the not-hot guy being an elderly couple and some middle-school kid. He fails to suppress the heat that noticeably paints his cheeks pink, forever uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. His friends are the absolute worst. He’s going to put them all up for sale.

“I’m just…enjoying being single for once. Y’know, just happy to just be by myself.”

Even Ned stares at him blankly. “There’s _no one_ in this entire town you would mess around with?”

Peter scoffs. “No.”

“Not even the hot girl that works at Dairy Queen?”

“No.”

“Dude, even I’d fuck her,” MJ adds, looking slightly offended on her behalf.

“Can I remind everyone that I’m here to spend time with May and you guys - I’m not here to get laid?”  
  


–----  
  
  
“Oh fuck, _fuck_… Tony that’s, _ahh_ yeah, right there –”

Using the grip he has on Tony’s hair, he manoeuvres him to bring his lips from where they were sucking at his neck up to his own. Tony doesn’t falter at the change, and surges forward to deepen their kiss, groaning into Peters’ mouth. God, Tony is so good with his tongue, Peter thinks as their kiss turns filthy, the mans stubble coarse against his chin as their lips slide together. His friends weren’t wrong about men with experience - although it might just be natural talent too.

The hands on his ass squeeze tighter and he can’t help but arch his back a little, moaning as Tony bites at his bottom lip. Peter sits perched on a dusty worktable with Tony firmly between his legs, they’re wrapped together so tightly he can no longer smell the sawdust and engine oil.

“We should, uh -” he pants against Tony’s mouth, pulling back a little. “We should slow down. Harley could…”

“Yeah,” the man agrees, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he uses the grip on Peter’s ass to slide him closer. Tony dips his head to latch on to a sensitive spot beneath his jaw, scraping his teeth against the skin and soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m - _hahh_, oh my god - I’m serious,” Peter insists, even as he locks his ankles behind Tony and grinds his hips forwards, seeking friction against the mans stomach. It’s hard to remember what his point was, head hazy with the scratch of stubble against his neck, in perfect conjunction with the wet, sucking heat of Tony’s mouth, the pinch of his teeth against the column of Peter’s throat.

What was he saying again?

Oh, right.

“Harley might –”

Tony pulls back a little to give him a judgemental stare, but pointedly keeps his hands on Peter’s ass.

“You’ve said my sons’ name more in the past five minutes than you have mine. Should I be worried? Working a bit harder? Feedback is always appreciated, just not always considered.”

Although he knows the affrontedness is all an act, the man just looks looks so put out, pouting ever so slightly, Peter can’t help but cup Tony’s cheeks, planting a quick kiss on his lips. Tony predictably tries to deepen it but Peter leans back, grinning.

“I’m just saying, he’s gonna wake up soon and wonder where we are.”

Tony sighs, head tilting downward. “Were you always such a boy scout?”

“Were you always such a horny, old lech?” Peter retorts, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair as the man noses along his neck.

“Yes,” Tony says seriously, nipping at the skin sharply. “Since birth.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, I’m told it’s incurable. Don’t want to complain or anything, but it’s a real hardship.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, smiling dumbly as Tony leans in to brush their lips together. “I can tell.”

For a few quiet moments they trade slow, lazy kisses, Peter easily sinking into the warmth of the man in front of him and relaxing into his embrace. It’s not hard to be with Tony like this, wrapped in their little bubble, like nothing outside it exists and quickly forgetting it does.

One of the Tony’s hands slip under his shirt to delicately caress the small of his back, calloused fingers sending tingles up his spine. Peter is almost tempted to say fuck it and throw off his shirt, hop off the table, sink to his knees and give Tony the sloppiest blow-job of his life. But he knows his best friend too well. As much as it’s a turn off to think, he knows that after a good solid ten hours sleep Harley’d be crawling out of bed - which would be right around now.

“I just missed you, baby,” Tony says against his lips when they part, the words a vibration against Peters mouth, big brown eyes are soft and glazed as they track over Peter’s face.

“Missed you too,” he whispers between them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come up to see you more often.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be, its –”

“No, I should have –”

“Dad, you in there?” Harleys voice yells from a few feet away, outside. “Have you seen Peter?”

“_Fuck_,” Peter mutters, pushing Tony away from him and sliding off the table. His heart pounds as he straightens his shirt and adjusts himself in his jeans. Tony does the same and calls out to confirm they’re both in the garage.

They spare a shared glance as they continue efforts to themselves look more presentable and Peter can only hope that his lips don’t look as kiss-swollen as Tonys’ do. There’s no more than a spare second to arrange themselves at the open hood of a car before the garage door swings open, handle banging against the wall.

“ - and that’s how you can tell the difference between a problem with the alternator and a problem with the engine coils,” Tony directs to Peter, gesturing to the parts with a wrench he picked up from somewhere.

Peter nods studiously at the ‘lesson’ before turning his head back towards his friend, heart racing. “Morning,” he greets, hoping his smile looks natural and not like he was humping his friends dad a minute ago.

“Hey, look who’s up,” Tony says loudly, half turning to give his son an unimpressed stare. “And before noon! Did you wet the bed or something, kid?”

“Fuck off, dad,” Harley yawns, shuffling between them and staring down at the rusted engine. “What’re we working on?”

Tony seems to freeze for a split second while thinking of a suitable excuse and Peter blabs to fill in the silence.

“May. Uh, she’s having trouble with her car, it’s um, starting weird? Tony was showing me what might be the issue.”

“Cool,” Harley replies, uninterested. “What’s for breakfast?”

Peter barely reigns in the sigh of relief, sparing a shared glance with Tony over his friends bowed head.

“Lunch,” Tony corrects, dropping the wrench and wiping his hands on a discarded rag. “And you’re on sandwich duty. Thanks for offering kid, I’ll have a BLT.”

“Oh, c’mon –”

“I’ll help,” Peter says, rolling his eyes as he leads his friend out of the garage, casting a look back at Tony and heading through to the house. If Harley catches the second-too-long stare between his friend and his father, he doesn’t say anything. It feels like they dodged a bullet - again.

Truth is, Peter isn’t sure how much longer that he and Tony can keep this a secret - or even if he wants to. It’s getting harder to find excuses to come over or to give reasons why he isn’t seeing anybody. It’s becoming difficult to look at his best friend in the eye and not blurt out the truth.

Over the course of the semester Tony made the lengthy drive up to campus a few times to spend a weekend with him. He doesn’t know what Tony told his son as an excuse for the sporadic weekends away, but whatever it was seemed to circumvent any suspicion.

And it was… really nice. They got a handful of days in a town where no one knew them, where they could openly be together. They’d go on real dates, holding hands in restaurants and smiling at each other over the table, there were cheek kisses as they embraced on the sidewalk, hands in each others back pockets. Mostly though, time was spent in Peter’s shared apartment, alone in his bedroom, taking advantage of not needing to hide for once. His housemates didn’t care who he was fucking so there were no furtive glances or kisses. Peter liked both - the thrill of getting caught and the calm that being open brought - but it was nice to not have to lie.

It wasn’t all sex, either. Sprawled in bed, sated and spent, there were conversations between them that could fill libraries. Over dinner it was all witty banter and sharing stories about their lives and common interests. It was feet in laps and sharing the bathroom sink as they brushed their teeth together.

It was… intimate.

Peter has never had a relationship like this before. Girlfriends and boyfriends, yes, but they seemed so casual in comparison. At some point over the last six month this thing with Tony had become something _more_. He was important.

Having something that important made his guilt all the worse that he was hiding it from the people that matter to him most. He’d find himself getting worked up over it, but then Tony would call or send him a text saying he can’t wait to see him again and suddenly it’s like he’s on cloud nine. It was like he perpetually oscillated between guilt and delight.

There will be consequences down the track, Peter knows. But this is okay, for now.

“Dude, what’s wrong with your neck - did you get a rash?”

It has to be, he thinks, as he lies through his teeth.  
  


–----  
  


“So I got that job,” Ned says from where he lies on Peters floor, staring dazedly up at the ceiling.

“Congrats, dude,” Peter replies, although he has no idea what job Ned applied for.

To his left, Harley groans loudly as he struggles to sit up, gesturing to the copious boxes of take out on the floor. “Does that mean you’re paying for the next round?” 

They’re all in a similar state, utterly overstuffed and seconds away from slipping into a food coma should they close their eyes. The only two that seem to be holding up from their Thai feast were Betty and MJ, currently trash-talking each other over a round of Mario Kart, acting as if tryptophan is no match for them.

It’s good to be home, he thinks.

“Where’s May?” Ned asks in lieu of answering Harley, shifting to sit up and directing his attention to Peter.

“At work,” he replies distractedly, busy firing back a flirty text at Tony. “Should be home soon.”

“Did she clean out your room? It smells nicer,” Harley comments, sniffing around idly.

“Yep.”

Another text lights up his phone which he reads instantly. He nods vaguely at his friends question, not caring how eager he seems to Tony, fingers working rapid-fire to respond quickly.

“Did she say it smelled like jizz and feet in here?”

“Yeah,” Peter responds, not really listening.

“Do _you_ smell like jizz and feet?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you made of jizz and feet?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you texting, jizz-feet?”

“Yeah - hey!” He cries out as the phone is swiftly plucked out of his hands. His whole body goes numb. stomach dropping to his feet as he sees Harley scrolling through the texts.

A surge of panic and adrenaline has him reaching forward quick as a gunshot, arm outstretched to take the device back out of his friend’s hand. Once it’s safely back in his grasp he fixes his friend a withering stare.

“Uncool, dude,” Peter says, punching his friend in the thigh.

God, how much did Harley read? Fuck. He tries to run over in his mind if his friend was recently mentioned in them or if Peter ever referred to Tony by his name. Shit.

Harley doesn’t seem to be suspicious or upset, smiling crookedly at Peter in the same way he always does and raising his hands up in surrender. Their friends titter at their antics and some of the tension bleeds out of him.

“Sorry, Pete.”

“No you’re not, nosy asshole.”

Harley shrugs. “I’m not. I’m also not sure who _Missus_ is, but I guess that answers the question of why you’re not getting laid.”

“Wha –”

“Pete’s got a girlfriend, guys.”

“Ooh, who is she?” Betty asks, abandoning her focus on the game to join in on the conversation. The interested, earnest grin that she directs toward Peter is both disturbing and worrying.

“Is it the girl that keeps giving you half price coffee at Perry’s?” Ned joins in, knocking over a half-empty carton of rice to edge closer.

Peter issues him a judgemental glare to try to mask the mounting panic racing through his blood. Confused as to how they came to the conclusion that he’s dating a woman, he tries to piece together the dots - _missus_ \- and then it hits him. 

He had lazily saved Tony’s contact as mrs - as in _Mr. S_, the formality from when he’d first met the man and politely referred to him as his guardians had taught him. It had been Mr. Stark in the beginning.

He silently thanks every deity known to him that Harley didn’t come to the correct conclusion and sends a mental middle-finger to every teacher who harped on about his grammar.

“I bet it’s his physics professor and that’s why he’s keeping it a secret,” MJ speculates, abandoning her controller to look him over.

He can’t help it. The attention and subsiding anxiety has his face burning.

“First of all, gross,” he says, pointing a finger at MJ. “She’s like ninety. Second, they’re not my girlfriend, it’s just a thing.”

“A thing,” she repeats drily.

“Yes, a thing. Can you please drop it?”

He almost says they’re not real, which would be closer to the truth because there is no _she_ involved at all - instead what comes out of his mouth is another terrible lie to cover up something that he tells himself everyday isn’t wrong, just misunderstood.

It feels a little wrong though, when he doesn’t bother to correct his friends, feels like an asshole both to Tony and to everyone else. It’s one of the biggest secrets he’s ever kept, something that makes him so happy - and that’s what’s ironic - undercover everyone is satisfied, it’s the reveal that will rock the boat. There isn’t a way this ends well in the open. 

Harley, sensing his unease is the one to call off the troops. It’s why he’s Peter’s best friend, after all.

“Alright, whatever Petey-poo. Keep it to yourself.”

“Thanks, Harls.”

The guy shrugs and the conversation quickly changes to Christmas plans. He tries to keep track of the flow of words, despite the deafening beat of his heart in his ears. The guilt of harvesting such lies crawls up on him like slime, leaving its potent residue wherever it touches.

Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.  
  


–----  
  


Christmas comes and goes, modest as ever in the Parker household. He gifts May with a set of acrylic paints and a few cheap canvas, and he gets socks and sweaters along with a new chess set in return.

The time spent up to new years is speckled with group hangouts, in duos or all together, taking long drives or just shooting the shit, drinking cheap alcohol and mourning their sparse bank accounts. The longer he’s back home, the more the strange, floaty dissonance from re-entering his old life disappears. He eats way too much, has many grand plans of getting ahead on next semester readings, but ends up doing none.

It’s good. 

Except…he wants. He tries not to push his hangouts with Harley to be at the Stark household in order to alleviate suspicion - but it’s been almost a week since he’s seen Tony and he just wants to be with him. The late night calls and daily texts are great, but it’s not the same as being together, especially since now they’re only a short drive away.

Growing increasingly desperate, he considers renting a motel room for them or getting a hold of Mays schedule so he can plot out a timetable to have Tony over. Turns out all of that is unnecessary when Tony texts him first.

**>> so…Harley is going away for the weekend**

A smile lights up on his face, fingers shaking with how swiftly they type out a response.

_<< oh yeah? sounds like it might get lonely having that house to yourself_

**>> exactly. I was thinking of inviting this cute guy around to stay but not sure if he’d say yes.**

_<< pretty sure he would say yes. he’d be an idiot not to_

**>> better not be an idiot then. see you saturday morning, beautiful?**

_<< c u then xo_

He falls back on his bed, grinning.

The week leading up couldn’t go slower, dragging on and feeling what seems like a hundred days. It doesn’t diminish Peters excitement though, if anything the anticipation only amplifies as he the days wear on. He finds ways to busy himself with video games and starting his studies - and then finally it’s the day.

With his worn duffle slung over his shoulder he tells May with a kiss to her cheek that he’s going to be staying at the Stark’s for the weekend. She waves him off disinterestedly, telling him to behave and have fun and he doesn’t need to be told twice, he’s out the door. He plans to have a lot of fun indeed. 

Twenty minutes later he’s rolling up to the Stark household, Harley’s old truck noticeably missing from the driveway. He drops his bike around the side of the house, wiping his hands on his jeans and approaching the front door with the intention to knock. 

Except Tony swings it open before his knuckles make contact. The sight that the older man makes in makes his mouth dry, donned in his typical wife-beater and jeans. It couldn’t have been longer than a week since they’d last seen each other but the need to touch the other man is so visceral that he’s barely inside the house before Peter’s on him.

Dropping the bag at his feet, his freed up hands to clasp the nape of Tony’s neck, leaning in to connect their lips. Hands settle on his waist as Tony tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

“Hello to you too,” Tony says, pulling back wearing a smile on his face.

Peter feels his own smile forming in response. “Did you miss me?”

Tony pretends to think. “Nope. Not even remotely.”

“Good, me neither. Didn’t spare you a single thought.”

“Same, I almost forgot who you were,” Tony quips back, smile still on his face as he leans down to grab Peter’s bag, kissing his temple before leading him into the house by the hand.

“Guess that’s what happens in your old age,” Peter says as they wander to Tony’s room where his belongings are dropped by the bed.

“Brat.”

“Senior.”

Tony hauls him in by the waist until their bodies are flushed together. Peter laughs as Tony wetly kisses the hinge of his jaw, prickly facial hair tickling the sensitive spot. That’s not where he wants the older man, so he places a palm on Tony’s cheek to gently direct him back up to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. As Tony’s tongue enters through he seam of his mouth he groans, snaking a hand down to palm at Tony’s crotch through his jeans.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to respect your elders?” Tony says, voice strangled as Peter continues his ministrations.

“That went out the window when I fucked an elder,” Peter snarks, shoving Tony to sit at the edge of the bed and sinking to his knees.

“That’s fair.”

He leans forward to nuzzle at Tony’s crotch, mouthing wetly at the denim and running his hands slowly up the man’s thighs. He feels Tony’s cock slowly hardening under his lips, a thrill of its own that he has any sort of effect on someone like Tony. The soft groans and twitching fingers has Peter helping him out, unbuttoning and lowering the zip of the fly, pushing the jeans down enough to free Tony’s cock.

Without hesitating, he takes hold of it loosely with his hand, jacking it and looking up at Tony dutifully when fingers under his chin direct his face upwards. 

Pupils blown, Tony presses a thumb to Peter’s bottom lip, running it lightly over the seam before Peter opens him mouth, sucking the digit in.

“Look at you,” Tony says fervently as his cock is getting worked. “Any of those college boys ever tell you how gorgeous you are?”

Peter releases the thumb in his mouth to duck his head, a vain attempt to hide the blush that crawls over his cheeks. He doesn’t trust himself to speak with the heat coiling up his gut and into his heart, so he shakes his head no and places a tender kiss on the head of Tony’s cock instead, laving at it with his tongue.

“They couldn’t appreciate a good thing,” Tony continues, gently carding a hand through Peters hair.

There is no suppressing the quiet whine that comes out his throat, even as he takes the entire head into his mouth. He missed Tony. He missed these moments, how good they make each other feel. 

He kisses down the length of Tonys cock, mouthing at the base, trimmed pubic hair brushing his cheek. Rising back up he does his best to take the whole thing in his mouth, both girthy and long, stuttering two-thirds of the way through. At first gag he pulls off, using his hand to take what he can’t while he blinks away the tears from his eyes.

Breathing deeply he tries again, focusing on the texture of skin, the salty taste of pre-cum and sweat as he bobs up and down. He’s helpless when he looks up at Tony, expecting his head to be tilted back - instead he’s met with half-lidded eyes, hitched breaths and eye contact that goes on too long to be considered casual.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Tony encourages as Peter continues his ministrations, spurring his motivation further. As the man traces his cheekbone Peter takes special care to pay attention to the mans balls, fondling the sack with his spare hand and taking time to suckle at them, just to hear Tony’s helpless groans.

Tears spring to his eyes when he refocuses his attention to the mans cock, the head hitting the back of his throat, but the way the hand in his hair scraps his scalp in rapture has him doubling his efforts.

“Christ, baby. Didn’t know I’d been waiting for you all this time,” Tony says, voice raspy, hips undulating. 

Whether it’s the movement or the words, tears slip down Peter’s cheeks, his heart doing something weird.

It’s only a few more moments of working Tony’s cock before the man is warning him, legs locking up on either side of his shoulders as he cums, spilling into Peter’s mouth with a groan.

Tony, swiftly gathering his wits, helps Peter off his knees and onto the bed, kissing him soundly before Peter barely has a chance to swallow the load. It’s dirty, intimate, and makes his cock throb even more than any of the previous behavior. He breaks their kiss to strip himself out of his shirt, pulling himself out of his jeans to attend to his own erection.

The sweat on his palm is just enough to make the friction pleasurable, spilling his release over onto his hands after only a handful of strokes. 

Sated and breathless, he flops back onto the bed, resting on his elbows and grinning up at Tony.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”  
  


–----  
  


For all their fervent hurriedness things don’t really escalate much from there. Maybe it’s the early hour, or the relief at seeing each other again with the prospect of an entire weekend alone, two whole days of not having to hide or take what they can get in small moments.

The day is mostly spent curled up on the couch, exchanging slow kisses and grinding slowly against one another, undressed and unworried. It’s the most exquisite, drawn out foreplay that Peter has ever been a part of, feeling content and turned on in equal measure. Tony will kiss him behind his ear as a lead up to nothing, just doing it because he can or spoon behind Peter on the couch, half hard and doing nothing to alleviate it.

Towards the late afternoon they agree on take-out pizza for dinner and some reality TV re-runs. As Tony orders the food Peter wanders into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, stretching his body as he stares out the kitchen window, sunset rays bathing the room in an orange glow.

He shivers a little as his bare feet make contact with the chilled tiles, glad he pulled on his jeans - and as he drinks he wonders how this is his life, how he feels too lucky for the guilt to surface anywhere near the forefront.

Strong arms wrap circle his waist as Tony sneaks up on him, embracing him from behind. Peter relaxes into his hold, shoulders dropping while gently clasping Tonys forearms.

He allows his neck to go lax, head falling back to rest on Tonys warm shoulder and for a few moments they just stand there, swaying softly and staring into the darkening outdoors.

“Food should be here soon,” Tony murmurs, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Peters.

“You get the one without pineapple?”

“No, it definitely has pineapple. Only pineapple, I know it’s your favorite.”

“You’re a jackass,” Peter says, turning around in Tony’s arms and kissing the shit-eating grin off his face.

By the time the doorbell rings thirty minutes later his lower face is red with fresh stubble burn, a row of burgeoning hickeys stippled along his neck and hair resembling a birds-nest. Tony, faring worse with cum speckled in his beard and eyelashes, had gone to wash up.

Smiling dazedly, Peter pulls his jeans back up and ambles to the front door still shirtless, picking up the twenty dollars that Tony left on the counter along the way.

When he swings the door open the smile swiftly drops off his face, heart falling faster than an anvil.

Before him Ned stands in a crisp, new uniform, awkwardly holding their pizza and giving Peter a surprised smile.

“Oh, hey Peter! Didn’t expect to see you here, I have this order for Mr. Stark?”

_Shit_, he thinks, mind flashing back to Ned mentioning his new job. 

All too aware of how he must look standing flushed and semi-naked, he tries to school his expression into something neutral, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Uhh, yeah I can take that - “

“I thought Harley was going away this weekend,” Ned says conversationally, still holding the pizza.

“Yeah, he, uh –”

“What’s the hold up, babe?” Tony asks as he approaches from behind, stopping in his tracks when he catches sight of Ned. Peter can’t help as his eyes shutter closed, feels Tony’s entire body stiffening beside him.

“Mr. Stark?”  
  
“Well, fuck,” Tony says eloquently.


	3. Three

Peter rubs his hands over his face, sighing for the third time in five minutes.

“No one, Ned. Please.”

“I promise I won’t – “

“We just need a few more days before we make it public,” Tony smiles, tone wooden as he genially pats Peter on the knee, the contact not lingering for longer than a couple of seconds. 

“We’re going to tell Harley and May, honest, we just need – “

“A few more days,” Ned interrupts Peter, a look of grim determination coming over his face. “I won’t say anything, dude, I swear.”

“Thanks man, we just need more time,” Peter forcing a smile, the lines of his lips feeling like ill-fitting jeans, too tight and tellingly bulging at the seams. “We just wanted a few days to – ”

A few months is more like it. Hell, given the opportunity they’d probably taken a few years spending all their time in secret meetings, no one but them, no one to burst their bubble. Instead, a handful of months was all that they’d had together before their proverbial cocoon had been split open.

It’s not that they never planned to tell anyone. It’s not like this was planned at _all_. How was Peter supposed to know that Tony would ever find him sexually attractive? Like, it boggles his mind even now to think they’d get this far, even when Peter had a passing crush at sixteen. In his wildest, most extreme fantasies they’d only ever gotten as far as a hump and dump. 

“It’s cool,” Ned says, standing up and straightening his uniform awkwardly. “I, uh, gotta get back to work though, so…”

Sat on the sofa, Tony waves him off dismissively, thanking him for being understanding about the situation and for his compliance. 

Peter hates that phrasing - _situation -_ how incidental it sounds, hates the sweep-under-the-rug connotations like he hates the curdling in his stomach as he walks Ned to the door, the taste of bile in his throat. It stings going down when he swallows.

“I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Ned says, hurrying down the steps to his car, patting down his uniform, looking back at Peter as he climbs in. “But you should tell Harley soon, dude. It’s not cool.”

“I will,” Peter promises, nodding at him gratefully as he drives off. After Ned’s out of sight he turns back into the house, closing the door behind him with a sigh. The house is silent now, but he can hear the tension getting louder.

When he back into the living room he’s not surprised to find it empty bar the now-cold pizza, Tony nowhere to be seen. 

He follows the sounds of clinking glass into the kitchen in time to see Tony pouring himself a generous serving of whiskey, radiating agitation. The amber liquid nearly escapes the sides of the glass with how hastily it is poured.

“Hey,” Peter begins, shuffling forward. “C’mon.”

“Don’t. Not now.”

“Don’t what? Can we please talk about it?”

Tony hums, scrubbing a rough hand down his face before bringing the glass to his lips.

“What do you want to talk about, specifically? The fact that I’m _clearly_ incapable of making a mature, adult choices? Knew that one already, next.”

Peter frowns, heat crawling over his skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tony takes another gulp, wincing as he gestures to Peter with his glass. “C’mon kid, you’re smart - what do you _think_ is going to happen now? I barely know that kid, but I know he can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”

“Okay… and?” Peter responds slowly, the antagonistic tone making him feel uneasy. “Would it be so bad - I mean, yeah it’s not _ideal_ –”

“Not ideal,” Tony repeats, ambling closer to Peter though somehow seeming far, far away. “Jesus, Peter. Not ideal is a fucking understatement. Let me bring you up to speed, okay, this is a _disaster_ \- do you have any idea what this looks like?”

“I – “

“All the fooling around in secret? The fact that you’ve spent every weekend at my house since you were fourteen? Do you know what that looks like?”

“Stop,” Peter warns quietly, not liking where this is going, knowing exactly what direction the older man is careening towards and hating it. 

“People are going to look at this and think I fucking _groomed_ you,” Tony settles his now empty glass onto the counter and begins pacing. “They’re going to hear about this and think that I touched you when you were - that I looked at you like that when – ”

“But you didn’t!” Peter interrupts, putting a halt to Tony’s frenetic movements by stepping in front of him. “You didn’t lay a hand on me before I was nineteen.”

The stare he gets in return is disbelieving. “You think that’s going to matter? Barely legal isn’t exactly much better here, Pete, people will make up their own minds.”

“Who cares? We’re not doing anything wrong, we haven’t _done_ anything wrong.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me, what happens when no one wants to get their car fixed by the local pedoph– ”

“Don’t say that word,” Peter says, steamrolling over him, barging into the man’s personal space. “Tony, you’re blowing this _way_ out of proportion - whatever it is you think, no one’s going to care that much.”

“Don’t be so damn naive,” the man scoffs. “It’s easy for you to say, you have nothing to lose.”

Peter narrows his eyes, chest feeling like it’s being clawed from within.

“Are you fucking _joking_? Is that what you think? That I’m – ”, he breaks off before his voice cracks, before he says something he doesn’t mean. 

He thinks of Harley, of May, his friends - of this man before him who shouldn’t take up so much real estate in his heart as he does. Of endless nights falling asleep with his phone next to his ear, of cutting corners and saving money to come home for the holidays, despite being unable to afford the fare. It’s hard to reconcile him with the person raising his voice at him now.

“Just how it is. Gotta put food on the table, don’t I?”

“So, what now?” He asks instead, watching as Tony’s shoulders slump, turning his body away from Peter to brace the sink. “Tony?”

The man offers no response bar the subtle shake of his head, eyes trained down at his hands. 

He swallows roughly, wringing his hands for something to do with then. “Are we - is this…is this it, then? Are we done?”

The older man takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to offer any confirmation.

Pursing his lips and nodding to himself, Peter takes a few steps back, holding his hands out placatingly.

“Okay, well,” he says around the lump in his throat, “Um, I guess I’ll just… get my stuff then and go. If you can’t, if we can’t – ”

He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence as something in his chest cracks, silencing him. He swiftly turns around and heads towards the bedroom where his stuff is still mostly packed, a hand coming up to rub at the deep ache blooming behind his sternum. It feels like something quietly detonated behind his ribs, bones collapsing inwards.

Haphazardly he stuffs the jacket he’d shrugged off earlier into the bag and searches around for his shoes. Where did he put them, he wonders as he struggles to locate them immediately. It’s not like the house isn’t that big or that they could’ve gone far, how hard is it to find shoes? What kind of idiot loses something like that, why is he so fucking _stupid_?

He locates the worn sneakers peeking out from under the bed where he’d kicked then off, where things had been so different just a few hours earlier. Wiping at his eyes angrily he yanks them onto his feet without bothering to unlace them first.

It’s as he reaches for his bag that two strong arms snake around him from behind, a warm chest being pressed into his back. The sharp edge of Tonys chin digs into his collarbone when he hooks it over Peter’s shoulder to rub their cheeks together. 

Jaw clenched, he presses his own cheek back and digs his nails into the man’s forearms, trying to hold his heart in one piece.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Tony whispers.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Tony.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony mumbles contritely, placing a placating kiss on Peters neck. “Don’t go, please.”

“Getting some real mixed signals here. Why I should stay?”

Going from one extreme to the other in the span of a single day has him feeling whiplashed, wrung dry and exhausted - he doesn’t know who he’s more angry at - Tony for being such a dick, or himself for allowing this situation to go on as long as it has, allowing himself to feel like a dirty little secret for too long.

“Because,” Tony says, kissing higher up the column of his throat, “we’re not done.”

Peter takes one of Tony’s hands and interlocks their fingers so tight his knuckles go white, lolling his head back as Tony kisses his cheek. Despite being in this very same position no more than an hour ago it feels discernibly different this time.

And, as mad as he is, he can’t deny that there is some truth to Tony’s words.

“Being with me shouldn’t be a burden to you. I don’t want you to lose anything over this.”

“You’re not a burden, sweetheart. I was being dramatic, y’know, the whole zero to a hundred thing. It’s a thing I do, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“No, I noticed.”

Tony ignores him. “Besides, who am I kidding - no one’s going to go to Michaels for a service, not after the time he mistook soda for coolant.”

Peter laughs wetly, not mentioning what they’re not mentioning. “If you’re sure.”

“I am, like ninety-two percent. Ninety-three, maybe.”

“Decent odds,” he nods. 

“Great odds. You’ll stay then?”

“Should I, after all of that?”

“Yes. Do you know what strings I had to pull to get this weekend alone? Absolutely none.”

“My hero,” Peter drawls, giving in a little and nosing the underside of Tony’s jaw. “Aren’t you afraid the little old ladies at the knitting club are going to judge us?”

“Now that’s a burden I’m willing to bear.”

Pressed tightly together, neither makes any move to disentangle. He thinks Tony can tell that he’s still worked up over their argument - he knows Peter well enough by now that a few appeasing words aren’t enough to show intent. 

Instead of releasing him from his hold, Tony guides their linked hands downwards to palm at Peter’s crotch, softly shushing him when his breath hitches. Turning his head, he captures Tony’s mouth with his own. Pouring as much of the ache in his chest as he can into it, Peter bites roughly at Tony’s lips, gut simmering with heat when the man moans into his mouth.

“This is a bad idea,” Peter warns against Tonys lips.

“The worst,” Tony agrees, releasing him and stepping around in front of Peter. Before he can say anything the man to sink to his knees on the carpeted floor, slowly sliding his hands up Peters thighs to unzip his jeans. The denim falls to a heap around his feet when Tony pulls them down. His underwear follows, exposing his rapidly hardening cock that quickly gets taken in hand.

“You’re still a jerk,” Peter grits out. “And I’m still mad.”

“And I’m _apologizing_,” Tony says pointedly, tugging lightly at his cock and pressing a kiss to the head.

“Giving head twice in one day, you must be sorry.”

“I’m keen on making amends,” Tony comments with a grin, sucking the head into his mouth.

Later, once Peter is spent, sunken to Tony’s lap in a boneless heap, his eyelids heavy, the remaining energy seeping out of his body as he sags into the hold. He yawns as Tony’s thumb strokes back and forth over his cheek.

“Tired?”

“Been a big day,” Peter comments, smiling crookedly, reaching for Tony’s free hand and pulling it into his lap.

“Has it? I have no idea what you’re referring to,” Tony responds, joke falling flat as the gravity of the situation settles heavily around them.

“We gotta tell them, Tony.”

“We will,” the man affirms, placing a kiss to Peters temple. “Next weekend, invite May over for dinner. We’ll tell them then.”

“Isn’t Harley having a party here on Saturday?”

Tony makes a confused face. “I don’t know, is he? Little shit didn’t even ask.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, not surprised. “Sunday then?”

“Sunday.”  
  


\-----  
  
  
Having a timeline felt like both a reprieve and a sentencing. It was weird.

He found himself alternating through states of dizzying relief and terrible unease, the anxiety of not knowing the outcome was so intense it was crippling. It kind of made him glad that Ned knew now and didn’t hate him for it. Peter had confided to him after, telling him everything - it felt really good to finally have someone to talk to about it all, the good and the bad. 

While Ned didn’t exactly approve of his poor life choices, he was at least satisfied that Tony made Peter happy. Having that one other person in his corner made it all bearable.

God, they fucked this up so bad. They should have been upfront, but it’s not like they thought this through. And was wanting some time to themselves without judgement such a crime? If it wasn’t his best friends dad, maybe.

On one hand, getting everything out in the open sounded like a dream - but the inevitable fallout, the potential consequences were things nightmares were made out of. 

In fact, he was _literally_ having nightmares about it. On more than once occasion he’d woken up breathless, mind echoing with the afterimages of a too-realistic dream; visions of a disgusted May disowning him, or Harley punching him in the face - or that one dream where the entire town came to Tony’s door with flaming torches and pitchforks. Peter had been wearing a bonnet and a chastity belt in that one, the town priest locking him away in the church that no one goes to. 

It got weird.

He’d spent the remainder of the weekend with Tony, afterwards. Maybe it was because they were wary of the incoming implosion, or maybe it was because there was the basal acknowledgement that they’d progressed beyond fuckbuddies - but it was unhurried and kinda wonderful, if he’s honest. They’d spent hours just wrapped up in each other, arms slung over shoulders, cheek-to-cheek, taking turns spooning behind each other and drowsily watching one episode of Kitchen Nightmares after another.

Truth be told it was perfect mostly because they didn’t bring the elephant in the room up again, for which he was thankful. Despite the shit he’d given Tony he wasn’t ready for the blowout either. 

To make matters worse he barely gets to speak to the other man all week, excuses to come over running dry as both Tony and Harley get busy with work, the cold season doing a number on older radiators. Even their texts are far and few between making him feel like he’s drifting on this boat alone. 

May picks up on his dour mood halfway through the week when they’re settled in the living room watching Gilmore Girls, still in their pyjamas despite it being early afternoon. From the other armchair she throws a kernel of popcorn at Peter and it hits the side of his head.

“What’s up with you, kid? Why so blue?”

“Hmm?” He hums distractedly, picking up the popcorn piece from where it fell onto his lap and popping it into his mouth. “I’m not blue.”

“You have your sad face on, y’know, the one that makes you look like a chipmunk.”

He draws his eyes away from Rory ranting to glare at his aunt. “I do _not_ look like a chipmunk.”

“A very cute chipmunk,” she amends. “C’mon, talk to me. You hate this episode.”

She’s right, he thinks, he does hate this episode. Why is everyone in this show such a self-absorbed asshole all the time? Why can’t anyone have a normal, functional relationship?

“I’m just,” he trails off, gesturing vaguely, “not ready to go back to school, y’know? I like being back at home.”

“I should’ve come up to see you more.”

“No, it’s okay – ”

“You came home and you were so _pale_,” she says, worry creasing her brow. “You’re working too hard up there. Have you been eating okay?”

“May, it’s fine,” he laughs, grateful for her concern. “C’mon, if I’m not running on ramen and red bull then I’m not doing college right, am I?”

She looks at him thoughtfully. “You just seem so far away right now. Something happen at Harley’s over the weekend?”

Unable to stop himself, he snorts. Something happened alright. But the look of concern she sends him quickly dissipates his dark humour.

“Aren’t you and Harley dating? Did you two break up?”

“What? May, no.” He shoots her a crazed look, grossed out by the implication.

“Because I always thought you two – ”

“Oh my _god_ – ”

“I mean, it’d be okay if you were – ”

“No! We are - stop, please. Harley’s, like, really not my type. You were invited to dinner on Sunday, remember? Everything’s fine.”

For now.

He unmutes the TV in time to listen to Lorelai guiltily admit fault to her mother for some transgression. Even while staring at the screen he can feel his aunts dubious gaze.

“Okay - well, whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure it’ll all work out okay.”

He thinks of Tony last weekend, the man naked and vulnerable in sleep, unconsciously curling closer to an awake Peter .It’s a fond memory - smiling downwards at the man, caressing Tony’s scruffy cheek as he snuffles against his own bare thigh, his last words before slipping back to sleep being _love you, baby_…

He thinks of how dubious he is of Tony’s pillow talk and the stupid, buoyant hope that the man might actually mean it. Then he thinks that the people who are going to be hurt by this, who won’t look at them the same - and it’s all his fault. 

“Thanks, May. I’m sure it will.”

It’s a house of cards in the eye of the storm. He just hopes there is something left standing after.  
  


\-----  
  


The days slip away in the way that holidays always seem to, melty and quick. Before he can ready himself it’s already Saturday. In the evening he finds himself at the Stark household, huddled around a carefully constructed campfire in the sprawling backyard along with his close friends, and some thirty other not so close friends. There is no shortage of alcohol or conversation and the amount people just seem to multiply as the night travels on. 

Harley loves a party.

It’s the last weekend they’ll all have together before they all go their separate ways - in the spirit of student poverty and summer internships, who knows when they’ll all be here again? It almost makes Peter long for the simple days of high school when everyone was mandated to be in the same area at the same time - being told where to be and when, having everyone else do the worrying for them. The real world isn’t so easy.

Flanked by Ned and Harley, he’s pleasantly warm upon on a lawn chair, sipping his third beer and laughing along to the banter around the fire. Off to the side a sound system Harley reconstructed is playing music, some of the more tipsy guests swaying to the beat and giggling as they shuffle along the dirt, giggles forming as dragons breath against the cold air.

There’s a girl from across the fire that has been sending him looks all night as she talks with her friends. He’s not quite sure what to think of it, sending a smile her way when he catches her gaze. Slightly inebriated as he is, he hopes it comes off as politely disinterested rather than suggestive.

Harley tuts next to him, nudging Peter with his knee and tilting his head towards the girl.

“She’s cute. You gonna go say hi?”

Peter shakes his head. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Ned fiddling with the metal cap of his beer bottle, trying not to look over at him. 

“Who is she anyway?”

“MJ’s friend. She was in the year below us, remember?”

He does not remember. In lieu of answering he takes a long sip of his beer, tipping it back to empty it. 

“How’s work been?” He asks after he swallows. “Barely seen you this week, dude.”

Harley shrugs, sipping at his own drink. “Busy as hell. Still dealing with that hailstorm damage from the other week and now this freakin’ coldsnap. Kill me.”

“Sucks. Must be good for business though,” Peter comments thoughtfully.

“Yeah, that’s what dad says.”

“And how _is_ your dear old dad?” Betty asks, catching the end of their conversation and seating herself upon Neds lap, snuggling up to him. “I haven’t seen him tonight.”

Harley casts her a weird look and throws back the last of his beer. “I don’t know, he’s okay - and I know where your dirty mind is going, Betty Boop, you can stop right there.”

Confused at their interaction he looks over to Harley, catching the tail-end of his repulsed wince.

“She used to be hot for him in high school,” Harley shudders, looking over to Betty with clear judgement. “S’gross.”

“Oh,” Peter laughs, nervously catching Ned’s eye. “That’s so twisted, Betty - oh my gosh, look at that - Harls’, do you need another beer?”

Using his friends shoulder for leverage he heaves himself upwards, gesturing to his empty bottle. Harley smiles lopsided - the same smile that Tony gives him in bed, _fuck_ \- and stands to join Peter.

The feeling of misalignment is a beehive in his gut as they head into the house together - buzzing loudly, beating against his insides directionless, just bouncing off the walls until it flies higher and higher, the vibrational hum reaching a crescendo that never recedes.

The house is warm. Inside the kitchen he places their empty bottles in the recycling, fishing through the fridge for another two, passing one back to Harley. 

They stand idle for a couple of moments, grabbing handfuls of doritos from the counter and sipping their drinks, getting cheese dust over their hands as they snack. 

Peter tries very hard not to think about he got fucked against that same counter not even a week earlier.

“So how was the weekend away?” He asks, trying to think of anything else.

“Dude, that’s the third time you’ve asked me since I came back.”

“Oh, sorry.” Peter says, trying to laugh off the awkwardness. It sounds hysterical, even to himself.

“What is _up_ with you, man? You’ve been a mess all winter break.”

“I’m not a mess, I’m just –”

“Who’s a mess?” comes a familiar drawl from the hall. Tony emerges in the doorway dressed in a black shirt and loose, dark jeans, a glass of scotch in his hand. “Not talking about me, I hope.”

“Pete,” Harley answers, throwing his friend an impish grin. “He’s such a fucking space case lately.” 

“Not a space case, dude.”

“Just an airhead, then.”

“Like you can talk, asshole.”

“I know,” Harley says easily, brushing him off, “But seriously - is it that girl you’ve been texting?”

“What?” Peter asks shrilly, throwing Tony a panicked look. “No, Harls, there is no girl.”

“Whoever that person in your phone is then.”

Peter wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Face flaming he tries to not freak out and let anyone get the wrong idea.

“I told you –”

“Leave the poor guy alone,” Tony interrupts, reaching for the bottle of scotch to pour himself another glass, shaking his head at his son. “What have I taught you, kid? It’s either all the gory details or nothing at all, c’mon.”

Harley opens his mouth and Peter can already see the sarcastic retort forming when someone calls his name outside. 

“You’re gonna giving me the gory details,” Harley points at Peter, grinning at him when he raises his middle finger up before Harley slips out the back door.

Peter uses this reprieve to wipe his hands on his jeans and look to the ground.

It’s kind of uncharted territory for their friendship. They’ve been friends since he started having sex, Harley has heard it all - from Peter losing his virginity to his first boyfriend back when he was sixteen, to complaining about getting bad head just before last summer ended. He can see why the sudden radio silence would be weird to Harley.

Fuck, he’s such a shitty friend - and now Tony probably thinks he’s screwing some side girl. Not ready to go back to the party just yet, he sags against the counter, propping his beer up beside him and closing his eyes. The room stops spinning but the ever roving vortex in his chest goes on. He brings a hand up to rub at his sternum to try and ease it.

He could almost fall asleep like this, leaning against the bench, thick walls insulating him from the worst of the chill and making the music outside seem like a soft hum, a white noise.

His head is so syrupy he thinks he almost imagines the heat at his front, the fingers lightly tracing his forehead, tucking his curls away from his face. It’s nice, he thinks, smiling dumbly as hands come to cup his cheeks.

“What _am_ I going to do with you,” Tony whispers as Peter opens his eyes, blinking the blurriness away. 

“It’s you,” Peter blurts out, making grabby hands at Tony’s shirt.

The older man smiles indulgently, lips quirking up. “Yes, it is me.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, it’s _you_. On my phone. Harley saw, but he didn’t see - I mean, there isn’t anyone else.”

“Good.”

“I mean, are you seeing anyone else?”

“No, baby - we had this talk already, remember? It’s only you.”

“That’s good,” Peter replies solemnly, nodding to himself. “It _should_be only me.”

“It is,” Tony laughs softly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead before stepping back. “Sober up a bit and come see me later, okay? Wake me if you need to.”

“Okay.”

So that’s what he does. He sticks to water for the rest of the night and makes the most out of enjoying his time with his friends, knowing full well this is the last night that things are going to be the same. He laughs, he talks and listens and wonders what this time next year will look like.

The potential disaster ahead should shame him from slipping away just after midnight and entering Tony’s bedroom. It should stop him from pulling the man closer to him and kissing him soundly. Knowing that he’s betraying his friends trust should stop him from falling into bed with said friends’ dad. 

It doesn’t.  
  


\-----

  
The burn in his thighs makes the perfect counterpoint to the exquisite pleasure coursing through his body, everything heady and fuzzy. The slide of Tony’s cock, hot and hard in his ass is dizzying - he groans, lost in the heat of the mans skin as Peter rides him slowly, hands on Tony’s chest, head thrown back.

“Oh _fuck_, baby, just like that,” Tony groans beneath him, gripping Peter’s hips harder as they grind down. He’s taking his time to savour the feeling, chasing his own pleasure as he lifts himself up and settles back down.

“So good,” he moans, tilting his head down to look at Tony who looks like the picture of indulgence, one arm coming back to rest underneath his head, eyes glazed.

“You feel amazing,” Tony praises, his other hand drifting to lazily jack Peter’s cock. 

“You gonna do any of the work, old man?” Peter asks, rolling his hips to get some more friction and clenching around Tony. 

“What for? You look so fucking good like this, sweetheart.” 

“I want you to fuck me,” he whines. “My legs hurt.”

“Aw poor baby,” Tony pouts. “But don’t you know I have a bad back, happens when you - _oh_ _fuck_ \- get old.”

“You’re so full of shit,” he snorts, leaning down to press his lips to Tony’s in a loud, smacking kiss. 

As he leans back to continue what he was doing Tony surges upwards, wrapping an arm around Peter’s lower back and capturing him in another kiss. His groan is cut off when the man begins bucking his hips upwards, throwing off Peter’s leisurely pace as he fucks into him.

Pleasure ignites inside him like fireworks as his prostate is relentlessly pounded, Tony knowing exactly where to hit and how hard. It’s so fucking good, he thinks, wrapping his arms around the mans neck and kissing back with fervour. Every cell feels like it’s on fire, everything is all heat and sweat and slick - the sweat on Tony’s temple as it brushes against his own, the wetness of Tony’s mouth as it moves away to bitingly kiss along his collar bones, the precome that leaks from his own cock between their stomachs. 

He bits his bottom lip hard to keep as quiet as possible, although is unable to silence the high, breathy groans that escape his mouth. The pace Tony sets is unyielding, a hand snaking down to grab at his ass, using the grip as leverage to fuck into him even harder.

“That’s more like it,” Peter mumbles, his teasing cut short as a high pitched whine escapes his throat when Tony releases his grip to slap Peter’s ass. 

“Yeah? That hard enough for you?”

Peter grins, head falling back as Tony’s mouth migrates to his throat, sucking at the sensitive skin there.

“_Mmm_ \- yeah, if I were in a nursing home,” he laughs as Tony bites down roughly on his neck in retaliation.

“Fucking brat, I’ll give you nursing home,” Tony warns before flipping him sideways, placing Peter on his back, pressing him into the mattress as Tony covers him, hips slapping against Peters ass as he drives into him.

“Oh, fuck - Tony.”

For moments it’s just the sounds of skin clapping against skin, quieted groans filling the room, the smacking of lips in sloppy kisses. It doesn’t take much longer for Peter to come after that, vision going white as he spilling over his own torso.

He errs on the side of overstimulated as Tony continues to pound into him, chasing his own pleasure. Luckily it isn’t long until Tony finishes himself off, collapsing forward and burying his face into Peter’s chest, biting roughly at his pec to stifle his noises.

Later, they lay curled under the sheets, legs intertwined. Tony is over him, head on Peters stomach, rising and dipping with each respiration. 

Peter gently traces the crows feet that branch out from the corner of Tony’s eyes, as beautiful as the rest of him. He can feel the curve of Tony’s smile against his stomach and for all of the guilt and shame in the periphery he’s never felt this _whole_. He could spend the rest of his life doing just this, he thinks, heart swelling.

“Tony?”

“Mhmm,” the man responds inquiringly, placing a kiss to his stomach.

“I should probably go, huh?”

Tony crawls upwards, using their legs to maneuver them until they are face-to-face on their sides. “No,” he says petulantly, stroking Peters back with gentle fingers. “You should stay right here. You should be here every morning.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins, shuffling forward until their noses brush.

“Yes,” Tony affirms, “Right here, naked and beautiful.”

“I don’t know about the rest, but I can do the first part.”

“You can do every part. You’re gorgeous,” the man says, kissing the corner of his mouth, then the other, “talented, intelligent, stunning.”

“Yeah? Is that what you tell all the boys?”

At this, Tony takes one of Peters hands in his and pressing it to his chest, splaying out his fingers. Peter can feel the thump of Tony’s heart underneath like a percussion against his palm. 

“There are no other boys. You, Peter pain-in-my-ass Parker are right here,” he says, tapping on the back of Peter’s hand over his heart. A stupid smile breaks out over his face.

“You’re here too,” Peter says, transferring their hands to rest over his own staccato heartbeat, watching the way Tony’s eyes go from vulnerable to warm. “You’ve been here. You know that I’m…”

“I know.”

He swallows roughly, eyes dampening. “I can’t take you out of there. I’ve tried. You’re very persistent.”

“Like a leech,” Tony nods, smiling roughly, looking as strung out as Peter feels. “Guess we’re two peas in a pod, darling.”

“So, basically we’re fucked?” 

Tony snorts, wrapping his arms around Peter, bringing their bodies close together. It’s all Peter needs to feel like he’s in freefall, crumpling a bit in the man’s embrace, taking solace in his warmth, his scent.

“What are we going to tell them tomorrow?”

Tomorrow is technically today if the alarm clock is accurate, reading 3:27am with offensive brightness in spite of the hour.

“What do you want to tell them?”

“Depends if you prefer the term fucking or boning? Like, _hey Harley, I’m boning your father_ is much less worse than _your dad and I fucked twice on the sofa you’re sitting on_.”

Tony smacks his ass.

“Oww – ”

“What about ‘_me and your dad are dating, I’m sorry, we should have told you earlier_’.”

He pretends to consider it, tilting his head to the side and squinting.

“Yeah okay. That sounds way better, Mr. Stark.”

“I thought it would be moderately more appropriate, Mr. Parker.”

A moment of quiet passes, however loud as they contemplate what’s to come.

“This is not going to end well,” Peter mumbles, lips moving against Tony’s shoulder.

“Probably not,” Tony agrees.

“I should definitely go now,” Peter says, reluctantly peeling himself away from the older man, listening out for any movement inside the house as he stands. The music died down hours ago but he wouldn’t be surprised if anyone was still lingering. 

Tony nods, kissing the back of his hand before letting it go. “See you in the morning, sweetheart.”

Peter smiles grimly, bending down to peck Tony’s lips before locating his clothes and getting dressed. He wipes the flaking come away as best he can with a used tissue he finds in his pocket before leaving.

He tries to slip back into Harley’s room as quietly as possible but accidentally bumps into a bookshelf, causing his friend to rouse from his slumber.

“Where’d you go?” Harley asks sleepily, one eye creaking open and taking in Peters dishevelled appearance. “Shit, dude - you get some?”

“Yeah,” Peter replies frankly, rubbing his eyes as the tiredness sets in. At least he’s being honest.

“S’it good?” His friend yawns, tossing over and burying his face deeper into the pillow, words progressively slurring.

“Yeah, dude… I really, really like them.” 

“Good for you man,” Harley praises around a yawn. “Told you there was someone in this town you could bang.”

Peter winces as he climbs onto the top bunk at the phrasing, regretting saying anything at all. 

Dinner tomorrow is going to be very, very awkward.


	4. Four

It’s way too cold to be wearing a simple t-shirt outside, Peter decides a little too late to do anything about it. Frosty, biting wind nips at him, numbing his exposed skin, fingertips freezing as they reach to grip an empty, discarded bottle from the ground. 

This is Peter’s typical, glamorous afterparty experience - roaming around his best friends backyard, locating and collecting all of the garbage the party goers have carelessly left behind. He’s already filled his bucket to the brim three times with empty bottles, plastic cups and food wrappers. 

To his left, Harley groans as he mops up a congealed puddle of puke on the decking, face screwed up and looking a little green as he tries not to breathe downwind. Whilst Tony is a generous host, catering to most of Harley’s whims, it is conditional on the cleanup being left for his kid - and Peter by extension, more often than not.

“Dude, my head is killing me,” Harley complains, halfheartedly pushing the mop against the weathered woodwork. “I’m actually never drinking again.”

Peter snorts, depositing another empty bottle into his bucket with a satisfying clink. “Wow, sure. Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, but did you hear me hurling in the bathroom this morning?”

Peter grimaces at the memory, emptying out a bottle into the extinguished fire pit. “Yeah dude, your retching woke me up. But it’s also not the first time, so.”

“True.”

They work together in relative silence, aiming to have the yard trash free as soon as possible so they can enjoy the rest of the day unencumbered by menial chores. Harley finishes mopping with an exaggerated gag and joins Peter in picking up the rest of the scattered trash.

“Our friends are actually animals,” Harley mutters, picking up a used condom with the end of a stick, warily depositing it into his bucket. Peter eyes it and tries not to imagine who or why.

“To be fair, not all of them were our friends.”

“True,” Harley concedes. “Hey, when do you have to leave for school again?”

“Tomorrow night, dude,” Peter answers, dread creeping in at the reminder. “My train leaves at six.”

He receives a commiserating smile in return. “You coming back for spring break?”

“Dunno, man. Depends.”

“On?”

“On if I can afford it or if I’m going to be swamped with assignments. What, you miss me already or something?”

His friend scoffs loudly, flicking a cigarette butt at him. “You have it twisted. Remember when we got sent to different summer camps that one year and you cried because you missed me.”

“I didn’t _cry_.”

“You FaceTimed me with snot coming out of your nose.”

“I had a cold.”

“You had separation anxiety.”

“Fuck off,” Peter laughs, flipping his friend the bird.

“S’okay,” Harley says mockingly, placing a hand on his own chest. “I still love you, bro.”

_Probably not for much longer_, Peter thinks, but nonetheless places a hand on his own heart with an exaggerated pout.

Checking his watch, it’s T-minus six hours between now and when May is due to arrive, when everything is probably going to go to shit. The weight of the upcoming reveal and it’s likely, subsequent fallout presses on him so intensely it steals his breath at odd moments. He feels like a livewire is running through him, sparking dangerously, only a matter of time before it catches alight.

Harley stares at him oddly. “You know I’m joking, right.”

“Yeah,” Peter reassures, waving him off as they finish up. “Was just thinking about dinner.”

“You haven’t even had lunch.” 

Harley grabs his trash from him, emptying both overflowing buckets into the outside garbage skip. The glass bottles crash against one another from the fall in a cacophony of noise.

“I was just thinking that we haven’t done this for a while. Y’know, the four of us all together - s’nice.”

“I guess.”

“I dunno. Shoulda done this more.”

Harley flicks his forehead playfully as they ascend the porch steps into the house. 

“I know, but like imagine if May and my dad hit it off and got married. How weird would that be.”

Peters eyes bulge, the echo of a thousand regrets resounding in his brain. 

“Really weird.”

“Dude, we’d be step-brothers.”

“…Jesus christ.”

“Why are you cringing? That’d be cool!”  
  


\-----

  
The remainder of the day is spent in a divine lazy daze, playing video games and watching movies, the sedate pace at complete odds with Peter’s internal restlessness. 

At around four that afternoon Tony commissions Peter and Harley to assist with dinner preparations, tasking them with cutting the vegetables and preparing the mince. Tony, usually a jar-sauce man, insists on making spaghetti sauce from scratch. The preparation results in haphazard red splatters, sticky fingers and tomato juice streams.

As a distraction it’s somewhat effective. Although not enough to completely detract from the mounting pressure in the air, thickening all around him. 

Going by the way that Tonys’ temper seems to incrementally shorten as the afternoon progresses, then he must notice it too. The only one who seems unaffected is Harley, bouncing energetically from one task to the other, seemingly unaware of the heightened charge in the room.

Peter feels like an asshole for even thinking it, but he wishes he could get five minutes away with only Tony, to smooth his hands over the man’s shoulders, dig his thumb into the meat of the muscle to ease away the tension. It’d be impossible without rousing some suspicion, so he settles for placing innocuous touches on the mans waist, on his elbow as they manoeuvre around one another in the kitchen. 

Tony sends him grateful looks, reciprocating his touches by brushing their hands together as they pass items over, finding excuses to press their shoulders together as they work side-by-side. 

Peter has rehearsed in his head a thousand times over what he is going to say to his friend and aunt, has re-written the script ad nauseam. He has envisioned a thousand and one different outcomes, has plotted the path of all different variables. It’s not good.

The likelihood of this ending in happily-ever-after is minimal. There are going to be consequences, regardless of how this goes down. 

Announced by the squealing breaks of her Toyota, May arrives a couple of hours later, key lime pie under her arm and a beaming smile gracing her face. Peter scoops her into his arms upon arrival just as the Starks do, all tight and exuberant, as if to squeeze away the remorse from their distance.

With a jaunty grin he links their arms together, knocking his hip with hers and leads her to the dining room. Their approach is just in time, the Starks plating up bowls of spaghetti and plates of garlic bread at the table. The entire room smells like his childhood. 

Storing the pie in the fridge, Peter can’t escape noticing how domestic this is, quietly mourning the potentially lost opportunities of ever having moments like this again. 

He seats himself opposite May at the small table, Harley to his left, Tony to his right. They waste no time digging in, Tony pouring himself and his aunt a chilled glass of white wine.

After a few sips May smiles at them, glass cupped delicately in her thin hand as she breaks the silence with an anecdote about work, charming the men at the table with her easy upturn of her lips and well-delivered wit. 

“You look good, Tony,” May says, elbowing him lightly. “It’s been a while.”

Tony looks up from where he’d been half-heartedly twirling his pasta and provides her with a gracious smile.

“And you, May Parker, look stunning as always,” Tony responds, brushing his foot against Peters under the table as he does so. “You done something with your hair?”

May shakes her head, her nose creasing cutely as she smiles, eyes scrunching up at the corners. The stare goes on a little long as she coyly curls her hair around her finger.

It’s bizarre watching the display, he thinks, mouth going dry. Harley sends him a smug, knowing look and Tony glances at him furtively - and, okay, he clearly just entered into an uncanny parody of his own life.

“Anyways,” Peter says suddenly. “How ‘bout them Mets?”

It earns him a few weird stares.

“Season doesn’t start for a few months, bud,” Harley responds around a mouthful.

“Right, right,” Peter nods. “But, uh, what do you think their chances are this season?”

“Crap? It’s the Mets.”

“We’ll make you a Dodgers fan yet,” Tony assures warmly, reaching out to pat Peter’s forearm and squeezing it ever so slightly. The lines at the side of Tony’s smile eases the vice on his heart just so.

Conversation unspools from there on. It’s actually kind of nice, getting lost in the talk and ambience, the flow of alcohol and good food. For a second Peter actually forgets why they’re all really here. Harley talks animatedly about work, Tony chiming in here and there and the Parkers titter in response. Everything is warm and perfect, content.

Until Harley speaks up.

“Your car working okay now?” Harley asks May, wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“My car?”

“Yeah, I heard it was having issues.”

Peters stomach drops as May looks at his friend confusedly, Tony looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“No, it’s fine,” she says, shrugging minutely. “No issues that I’m aware of. Why, you hear something when I was driving in?”

“I, uh, noticed a rattle when I borrowed it the other day,” Peter rushes to interject. “I fixed it already, so. All good, everything is totally fine.”

May frowns. “Oh, what was wrong with it?”

“Uhh,” Peter trails, “it was just something caught in um…” 

“The fan belt,” Tony supplies.

“Right, the fan belt.”

“I thought it was a misfire problem,” Harley comments.

“Nope,” Peter says quickly, shooting Tony an alarmed look. “Definitely the fan belt.”

May purses her lips and fondly assesses her nephew. “Well, thanks for fixing it, honey.”

“He’s a good kid, isn’t he,” Tony says wryly, stabbing at a meatball.

“Yeah,” she agrees easily. “Don’t know what I’m going to do without you when you go back.”

Peter fixes her a sad smile. He wonders how she is going to feel about that soon.

“A lot less laundry, probably,” he jokes, earning a few snorts around the table.

“Harley will finally get a Saturday night to himself,” May adds. “I swear. You’re both twenty now and you still spend every weekend you get together.”

“Hey, not _every_ weekend,” Harley interjects, as though offended by their hypothetical attachment. “I got away from this asshole last week.”

May tilts her head to the side. “I thought Peter was over here last week?”

“Nope, I was camping.”

Hysteria bubbles up in his chest, Tony growing stiffer to his side as curious looks are directed to him. 

This is the moment. There is nothing else, no other excuses he could possibly offer. It’s time to tell them everything.

He sets his fork down gingerly on the table and rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs. Out of all the possible eventuations that he’d imagined, none of them went quite like this. The words he’d practiced disintegrate on his tongue and get swallowed back into his dry mouth. 

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat. “…I have something to tell you.”

A curious silence.

“The truth is…” he starts, shaking his head before trying again. “See, the thing is…what i wanted to tell you is –”

“Excuse me, please,” Tony interrupts suddenly, dropping his fork with a clatter. His chair scrapes across the floor as he stands abruptly, striding quickly out of the room, footsteps echoing loudly down the hall. 

Peter’s heart sinks as he hears a door slam.

“What the fuck?” Harley frowns, moving his chair back to follow his father. Peter shoots a hand out and stands up, offering to go instead.

“I need to go to the bathroom anyway,” he says, shooting the two a smile. “You stay here.”

Looking from room to room, Peter locates Tony in his cluttered, scarcely used office. The man is braced over desk with his head bowed, silent and radiating discomfort.

Shutting the door behind him, he approaches Tony cautiously, hands dangling uselessly at his sides.

“Tones…?”

“I just -” the man begins, staring down at his hands. “I just need a second.”

Tony turns around, scrubbing his hands over his face, leaning heavily against the desk. The sigh into his palms is heavy, the force of it visible as it expels out of his chest. 

“God, Pete. How did we fuck this up so bad?”

_How indeed_, he wonders, not having an answer to that question. Crossing the room in quick steps Peter circles Tonys’ wrists with his fingers, pulling then away from his face.

“Look, we don’t have to tell them,” Peter says, ducking his head to meet Tony’s gaze. “If you want, we never have to say anything. We can stop and just…”

“What, go our separate ways? Pretend like it never happened?” 

“I mean, yeah.”

Tony blinks. “Is that what you want?”

Letting go of Tony’s hands to rub harshly at his own face, he considers his next words very carefully.

“No, I don’t. But I want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, well newsflash, whizkid,” Tony drawls, poking Peter in the chest, “you make me happy. That’s the problem.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, a sudden uncertainty crawling up over him despite what he’s hearing. Shuffling in between Tony’s legs, he raises his hands up to card them between Tony’s hair, raking his nails against the mans scalp. Tony’s eyes go half-lidded, mouth slackening as Peter continues his slow ministrations. 

“Yeah. I’m kind of crazy about you, against my better judgment. It’s the worst.”

Peter nods seriously. “Same. It’s like, super embarrassing, but you’re kinda it for me.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Peter nods, stroking his thumbs against Tony’s temples into the sparse, silver streaks at contrast with his dark hair. “Don’t wanna complain or anything but it’s a real hardship.”

“I can tell,” Tony murmurs, dipping his chin and brushing their lips together. 

They kiss for a long moment, a slow and gentle gliding of mouths, knowing it’s the last one like this that they’ll have. The kiss deepens, tongues brushing together, Tony’s hands coming up to gently cup the line of his jaw. It feels grounding, more about comfort than anything sexual.

Their noses slide together as they part.

“So, we’re doing this?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers between them, stealing another kiss. Then another. “I’m –”

“What the fuck?” 

Whipping around, he hears Tony curse as May appears behind the office door, pushing it open, a stricken expression on her face. The fury radiating off her in pulses forces him back a couple of steps, his hands held up placatingly in both supplication and surrender.

“Uh, hey there, May. Um… surprise?”  
  


\-----

  
With his head in his hands, Peter sighs heavily, hoping to god the chaos around him would end soon. 

“You’re _sick_!”

“May – “

“I trusted you, Tony! He’s a fucking child!”

“With all due respect,” Tony cuts in, “Your nephew is twenty-years old, he’s an adult. I understand it’s unconventional –”

“Being a sexual predator isn’t _unconventional_,” May sneers, getting up in Tony’s face. “How long have you been touching him, how many years –”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Peter interrupts forcefully, standing from the couch and getting in between the two. “May, stop. You’re going too far.”

“Peter, I know you think –”

“It’s not about what I think, I’m _telling_ you that Tony never touched me before I was old enough to ask for it. He didn’t even instigate it, _I_came on to _him_.”

“And how long had you been wanting it? How long have you been looking at him like that?” She wheels back to Tony, her disgust dripping in every word.

“Not until he came back this summer, honest,” Tony swears, dropping down onto the couch where Peter had just been sitting. 

Despite the aggression in the room aimed at them, or perhaps in spite of it, Peter reaches out to place a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing gently to anchor him. Himself too, if he’s honest.

“Is this how long it’s been going on, since summer?”

Peter nods, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t say anything. We didn’t know it was going to, y’know…”

“Be something serious,” Tony finishes for him, bringing his hand up to cover Peter’s, looking up at him grimly. 

“Yeah. By then it was too late to say anything. We were going to tell you guys tonight.”

May lifts her chin towards the one quiet person in the room. “And what do you think about all of this, Harley?”

Everyone swivels to look at him, the blond lounging against an armchair, scratching his nose and tapping his foot against the leg of the coffee table. He blinks at the attention.

“Oh, I already knew.”

Tony goes rigid under his hand.

“I’m sorry, what?” Peter manages as his mind goes offline, watching as Harley shrugs. “You what now?”

“I already knew.”

“What?” He asks again. “Since when?”

Harley casually inspects his fingernails before responding. “I kinda suspected it for a while, but I didn’t know for sure until I went through your phone that time.”

“And you’re _okay_ with this?” May asks, placing her hands on her hips.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Harley says, shaking his head and pointing at them. “I’m fucking pissed that they went out of their way to lie to my face.”

“Fucking hell,” Tony mutters into his hands. “I’m so sorry –”

“Let me finish,” Harley interrupts, appearing to be profoundly unimpressed. “I’m pissed and I’m hurt. You were sneaking around like I was just in your way. It was really fucking shitty and you’re both assholes, so you know.”

“Wait,” May interrupts. “If you knew then why didn’t you say anything?”

It’s a good question, Peter thinks as he assess his friend who is now looking down at his hands, tapping his fingers against each other awkwardly. Harley squirms in his seat a little, huffing before he responds.

“Because. As much as I hated being lied to, I just - I don’t know. I haven’t seen dad this happy in a long time, y’know?”

“Kid…”

“Instead of just drinking yourself to sleep every other night you were staying up to text with this dumb smile on your face. I wasn’t about to compromise that.”

Peter’s heart clenches thinking of how lonely Tony must have been before. It doubles down when he considers how Harley must have felt like he wasn’t enough, the sense of exclusion he must have harboured. Shame blooms in his chest, thinking just how much Harley was carrying all this time.

“Then why did you keep trying to hook me up with all those people?” He asks as an afterthought, piecing together all his memories, all the offhand comments. 

Every little throwaway remark is rapidly recalled in vivid recollection - each one clearly designed to make him squirm.

“Wait, dude - have you been fucking with me all winter break?”

“Just wanted to see if you were really serious about him, I guess,” Harley shrugs. “I knew dad wasn’t bringing anyone else home and wanted to know it was mutual.”

“So… you’re okay with this? Us being together?”

Harley barely hides his cringe at the word ‘together’. “It’s gross because, like, that’s my _dad_, and I really, really don’t get it - but I’m not going to try and stop you.”

“Thanks, man. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just keep it in the bedroom. Quietly.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony says, sounding lighter than Peter has heard him sound in a long time. 

A strange silence falls around them, a shift occurring soundlessly between one another.

“I need some time to think,” his aunt says after a moment, pushing her glasses up on her face to rub at her eyes, sighing heavily into her palms. “This is just… I just need to process.”

“Why don’t you and May go home, talk things over,” Tony suggests softly, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Harley and I can come and see you off before you leave tomorrow.”

Biting his lip, Peter reluctantly agrees. Upon closer consideration, it’s probably for the best that they spend time with their respective families, the boat still rocking too much to claim any calm. 

May slings her handbag onto her shoulder and places her hand on the small of Peter’s back, carefully not looking Tony in the eye as she leads them away.

He’s surprised when Harley grips his wrist as he passes and squeezes lightly in a gesture of solidarity. Smiling crookedly, he can’t help but feel taken aback by his friends benevolence.

Trailing behind, Tony walks them both to the door. Still shaken, Peter doesn’t bother holding back, drawing the man into a tight hug.

Despite the burn of May’s gaze Tony boldly presses a firm kiss to Peter’s cheek as his arms encircle his waist. The gesture warms him all over, knowing that Tony was on his side first and deferred to no one else.

It’s dumb, but in that moment, he feels truly like they’re equals, he’s Tony’s partner and not just his sons best friend. When they part Peter returns the gesture, pressing his lips to Tony’s scruffy cheek, promising to call him later.

May blessedly doesn’t comment as he steps away, ushering him silently over to the car. 

The ride home is tense, filled with the static tones playing from the radio, the aerial on the hood bent beyond repair. Peter offered to replace it once. May had shrugged him off, saying she only listened to her cassettes anyways. She’d made no move to reach for one the whole way home.

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you,” Peter mumbles as they pull into their garage.

May turns the ignition off and stares out the windshield, making no move to exit the car. Peter stares down at his hands, clasped loosely in his lap and hears her laboured exhale. Her following words are delivered slowly and precisely.

“I’m not disappointed, Pete. I love you, I just don’t know if I approve.” 

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“Honey…he’s over _twice_ your age.”

He nods, thinking about how to frame his next words. “I know, I just… I don’t know how to explain it. We work well together and I think we want the same things, so.” 

“What happens in five years from now when you want kids? Tony will be nearing fifty, you don’t think there’s going to be a problem?”

“I do not want kids,” Peter affirms, shaking his head. “And if by some miracle I changed my mind? Then we’d work it out. I mean, you’re forecasting very far ahead here.”

“I don’t think you’re thinking far ahead enough,” She mutters, grabbing her handbag from the backseat and finally unbuckling her seatbelt.

“He makes me really happy,” Peter responds quietly, still looking at his hands. “He treats me well and makes me feel like the luckiest guy on earth. That’s all I need to think about.”

“I just - okay,” May sighs. “Truce for now?”

“Truce.”

She elbows his ribs on the walk up. “You wanna watch the musical episode of Scrubs?”

“Only if we get to break out the good cookies.”

“Deal.”  
  


\-----

  
When Peter wakes the following morning he stares at his ceiling for a long while, feeling a soft detachment to his surroundings, an unusual numbness. 

It’s the dread of leaving home again and the mental shift of trying to integrate back into his other life, of books and classes and the adrenaline of running across campus to make his class. 

How is he honestly supposed to leave this all behind the way things are now?

He and May work around each other throughout the day, interacting with a fusion of wariness and sadness. Let it never be said that May isn’t intrinsically warm-hearted, he thinks, as she makes him breakfast and makes him snacks for the train ride back. No matter how mad she is at him, she always cares for him.

The day is spent packing and texting his friends, some of them dropping by to say goodbye for the next few months. He fills Ned in on yesterdays events over a lengthy phone call and May treats him to lunch at his favorite pizzeria. They resolutely don’t speak about the elephant in the room. 

Fifteen minutes before he’s due to be at the station for his train, Tony and Harley show up to the apartment. They shuffle in awkwardly, sombrely taking in the packed bags by the kitchen counter.

It’s Harley who first drags him into a hug, whispering, “We didn’t want to take up too much time.”

Peter dismisses the notion, clapping his friend on the back before they disentangle.

He turns to smile knowingly at Tony before the man strides forward and wraps him into a firm hug. He melts into it instantly, all the rigidity he’s held since yesterday subsides leaving him feeling syrupy and tired. 

When they seperate Harley and May are looking at them with consideration, the former with a small smile on his face. For a moment Peters heart seizes in his chest, never more grateful for his friend than he is right now, unconditionally by his side even in spite of his own discomfort. It’s enough to draw his friend in for a second, tearful hug.

“C’mon now,” Harley says, patting Peter on the back with a laugh, “you know you’re not my type.”

“You’re the best, man.”

“Like, best man?” His friend asks, pulling away. “Gross, if you get married I am not calling you ‘dad’.”

Peter barks a laugh, wiping at his eyes a little. The weight of the world slides off his shoulders like mud in a landslide, crashing into a void-like nothingness and for the first time in months he feels like he can really, truly breathe. 

“Fine,” Peter says, grinning a mile wide. “How about step-daddy?”

“_No_.”

“I’m gonna miss you, son.”

“You are the fucking worst,” Harley says softly, “I’m going to miss your dumb ass too, even though you’re not my real dad.”

Peter’s shoulders hitch with laughter. “Thanks, kid.”

“Jesus christ, why are you like this,” Tony mutters, wiping his face with his hand, smiling nonetheless. 

Captivated, Peter smiles at his man and quickly wraps him up in another hug, burying his nose into the mans neck. Tony’s arms snake around his waist as the embrace tightens, a kiss placed softly on his temple.

Underneath the heaving percussion of his own heart he hears Tony ask for the other two to give them a moment, the quiet shuffle of footwork following shortly after.

“I don’t wanna leave,” Peter complains half-heartedly, breathing in the man’s scent and taking comfort in his warmth. “Wish you could come with me.”

“Me too,” Tony says, dipping his head to join them temple to temple. They stand like this, swaying to a silent, slow tune for a few heartbeats, chest to chest. “I’ll come up more, baby. Nothing stopping us now.”

Desperate at the thought of being apart after all this, he presses his lips firmly to Tony’s, cupping the mans face with his hands. “I, uh,” he starts. “I’ve never said it, but –”

“I love you,” Tony interrupts, leaning in to slide his nose against Peters.

He smiles against Tony’s lips. “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Peter confirms, stroking Tony’s cheeks with his thumbs, kissing him chastely. “Don’t wanna complain or anything, but it’s a real –”

“Hardship,” Tony interjects, smiling dazedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“We’re so lame,” Peter snickers, leaning in to press their mouths together again. As they trade slow, lazy kisses he can’t help but marvel at the unfolding of events, that somehow he gets to keep everybody. It’s not without damage, and he’s got to make amends, but it floors him that everything might turn out okay after all.

They seperate only when someone clears their throat behind them. Probably Harley, if the following gagging sounds are any indication.

“We should probably get going,” Tony sighs, glancing at the wall clock. 

“Okay. Thanks for coming by,” he says to both guests, hugging them both again.

“Have a safe trip, man,” Harley says, fistbumping him. “Try not to seduce any unsuspecting mothers on the way.”

Tony rolls his eyes, pulling Peter in for a quick, firm kiss. “Let me know when you arrive safe.”

“I will,” Peter says, swallowing past the lump in his throat. With a final wave they leave, only himself and his aunt remaining in the now too quiet kitchen.

Closing the door, he goes to stand by her side, taking in the room for the last time in what will probably be a while; noting how the afternoon sunlight splinters through in odd shapes from the kitchen windows, the fine cracks in the ceiling, the slightly off centre photo frames hanging on the walls. 

May is a line of warmth beside him when she drapes her arm over his shoulders, resting her head on his. The scent of her shampoo fills his nose, all fruity and familiar.

“You really like him, huh.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“You’re gonna keep seeing him regardless, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“If he hurts you I’m going to castrate him and feed him to the alley cats.”

“Okay,” Peter laughs, turning to pull her into a hug, the cogs in his heart finally shifting.  
  


\-----  
  


Later, after a long train ride and an arduous trip up his apartment stairs, he’s back in his bedroom, everything in it seeming cold and lifeless. It isn’t helped that none of his house-mates are home, all the lights off and everything quiet.

Dropping his duffle onto the floor, he can’t help but feel lonely, strung out from his time back home. He nearly came to the brink of losing those closest to him - now he’s supposed to readjust his schema to assignments and lectures and the pursuit of academic excellence. It feels like two dichotomous realities lives inside him and he isn’t quite sure how to combine them.

Stretching back on his bed without bothering to take off his shoes, he pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket, clearing away all of his notifications and begins typing.

_>> made it home ok. miss ur dumb face already tho._

He barely has to wait a minute before getting a response.

**<< miss you too baby. is it crazy that I’m already making plans to come up and see you again?**

_>> i’d b offended if u weren’t, old man. I can’t wait._

**<< me neither. love you, even though you’re a little shit.**

A grin breaks out on his face, warmth blooming over his body and feeling some of the parts mending together already.

_>> Love u too xo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> transferred from my tumblr @darker-soft-starker


End file.
